


Rest

by SaraJaye



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Butters is Kenny's escape, Butters is too pure for South Park, Butters's Parents Suck, Car Accidents, Established/Implied Relationship, Future Fic, Hedonism, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, M/M, Poverty, dying all the time really sucks okay, mention of drug use, mention of teen prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraJaye/pseuds/SaraJaye
Summary: Sometimes it's a wonder Kenny doesn't hope each death is the one that finally ends his existence. There's a reason for that.





	Rest

Being immortal fucking _sucks._ Since he was old enough to remember he's been dying and coming back to life once a week at _least_. It's rarely a quick or peaceful death, either; run over, shot, stabbed, blown up, strangled, gored, cooked in a microwave, eaten by a killer goldfish, smashed with a frying pan.

(He never forgave Cartman for that, either.)

Is it any wonder he turns to drugs, whores, and cheap thrills? Nothing can keep him dead, he just wakes up and the whole damn town pretends nothing happened. Cartman's the only one who at least _knows_ he dies all the time but he doesn't _care,_ at least Stan and Kyle know better than to just say those same old words by now.

He got run over by a truck on the way home from the bar the other night. Eighteen-wheeler, hurt like hell, no one noticed except the guy who picks up the roadkill. The house is quiet when he wakes up; Mom and Dad are hung over again, Kevin's sleeping and won't be up till noon, and Karen spent the night at a friend's house. He tosses last night's jeans and shirt in the hamper, washes his face, checks his body for scars. He never has scars anymore, but he's gotten in the habit of checking and it's hard to stop.

Just once he wishes he could keep a scar, so at least the guys will ask questions even if they don't remember anything about his death.

He and Butters have to finish their project for history class tomorrow, and luckily Butters's parents won't be home. He never liked them, even as a kid when he used to rip on Butters he thought his parents were assholes. They've only gotten worse with time.

(He's saving like crazy for his eighteenth birthday, when he can get an apartment and take Butters and Karen to move in with him.)

It's foggy and cold, looks like it's about to snow. Typical South Park weather. He passes by the joggers in their sweats, a few kids from school, Cartman's mom with her latest fucktoy, Cartman himself following a pissy-looking Kyle around like a horny puppy. When he gets to Butters's house, Butters ushers him inside and leads him towards the living room table.

"I-I made us some cocoa and snacks, in case we get hungry or somethin'," he stammers. He never did kick that habit, but it doesn't bother Kenny. It's kinda cute, actually.

"Thanks, man. All we've got at home is half a box of frozen waffles, a can of beef stew and a broken can opener." That fucking can opener's always breaking, too. Butters fills a plate with cheese and crackers and cut-up hot dogs (a South Park staple) and Kenny digs in. Even if they're past the days where he was lucky enough to eat an apple core a day, there's still never enough food.

Butters's house is probably the only one that's anything close to normal in South Park. _Because_ of Butters, really, since he's the one who does all the cleaning and re-organizing and keeping it nice and comfy-looking. His parents gave up trying to punish him for moving things years ago, probably because they realized he was a better housekeeper than either of them could ever be.

It's so _wholesome._ A total contrast to the bar with its drunks, whores, druggies, and that one guy in the corner bottling his piss and trying to sell it as a new kind of beer. This is the kind of place Kenny would have killed for growing up. Who needed access to porn and drugs when you could sleep in a room that didn't need rats to hold up the walls?

"S-so didja sleep well? Heard there was some kinda truck accident last night," Butters says. Kenny swallows hard, puts the plate down, and gives him a testy look.

"Really?" Butters, usually slow on the uptake, suddenly looks sorry.

"Aw, man, again, Kenny?" He still doesn't know if Butters believes him about never being able to die, but he's starting to get that things happen and Kenny gets hurt anyway.

"It wasn't even a quick one," he groaned. "Eighteen fucking wheels, all of them."

"That's awful! Y-you want me to get you some ice?" Butters offers.

"Nah, I slept off most of the pain." Kenny pushes the plate away, he's had his fill and he wants to leave some for Butters. "Anything left's just phantom and I'm used to that." He takes a sip of his cocoa, it's still hot but not scalding and Butters always buys the good mix. Most people would think it sad that a fifteen-year-old's stuck doing his own food shopping, but as far as Kenny's concerned the less he has to rely on his parents, the better.

Sometimes he wishes Butters's parents would get crushed by a falling plane, or just disappear.

"W-well...we should get to work, then, I guess," Butters says. "Um, but if you wanna rest..."

"Don't need it. Like I said, I'm used to this now."

"But Kenny-"

"The project's due tomorrow," Kenny cuts him off. "We'll get our asses kicked if it's not done."

"N-now hold on one second, I-I wanna get a good grade, too, but you still look awful! Just cause the truck didn't leave any marks doesn't mean you're not hurting!" By now, Kenny knows better than to not take Butters seriously because of the stutter. When it comes to things he's passionate about, he can be aggressive, and Butters has said over and over again that he loves Kenny and would die for him. (Or in this case, take a few points off their grade for him.)

"Look, Butters...it's not that I don't appreciate the worrying. It's just..."

It's just that there's nothing anyone can do about it. It's a curse, nothing can break it, and by this point Kenny's just _tired_ of it all. But tired's still better than scared and angry like he used to get. He knows he could swallow a glass of acid, jump off a cliff into a pit of sharks, and taunt a serial killer in one weekend and he'll just wake up Monday morning like nothing happened.

But he still remembers the pain of every death, and he's _tired._ It's been weeks since the last time he woke up after a normal night's sleep, Butters's couch is so inviting, and that stupid project is the last thing on his mind.

"Rest, Kenny. Just...rest." Butters shoves their books off the couch and yanks the blanket off the back of it. "You had a rough night even if you're still alive."

Between the nights spent getting drunk or shooting up, sleeping with hookers who think he's older than he is or selling his own dick and ass for a few hundred extra bucks a week, sneaking into strip clubs with the fake ID Cartman made him when they were ten, there's Butters's cozy house with hot cocoa on the stove and plates of cut-up hot dogs and a soft couch with a faded old blanket.

There's just plain _Butters._ The closest thing to a pure innocent this fucked up town has. A better person than either of his parents, the kind of person who'd give you the shirt off his back in a snowstorm or his last five bucks so you could get home safe that night.

The couch welcomes Kenny's weight, the blanket's draped softly over him, and Butters is kissing him goodnight and wishing him sweet dreams.

He's so tired, and this is the only place he can rest.


End file.
